The DVR Has Ruined Them

You know mister, when I was your age, there was no pausing-of-live-tv-watch-any-show-we-wanted-to-at-any-time-of-day. No, when I was your age, if we missed Sesame Street, we just had to live with it.

And this On Demand stuff. On Demand is a nice way for the cable company to market a service, but it's not how you need to ask Mommy for stuff. A little more please and thank you and a little less on demand would be nice around here.

Sigh.

Personality Test for Preschoolers

Good morning! Time to rise and greet the day. To help you get started, here's a little quiz to help you decide what kind of day it will turn out to be.

Mommy asks you to "get dressed and make your bed." You:
A. Comply. Mother is a wise and wondrous being who is trying to help you become a productive member of society at some point in your lifetime.
B. Ignore her. Oswald has those kickin' songs performed by Fred Savage. You don't even know who he is or that he won our hearts in The Wonder Years, but he was apparently born to be an octopus.
C. Cry. Putting on clothes and making beds is out of the realm of the reasonable. How dare she order you about like that! Punishment must be swift and without mercy.

Mom says it's time to eat breakfast. You decide to:
A. Choose a healthy and appropriate food source for your first meal of the day, such as toast, cereal or waffles, washed down with a cold glass of milk.
B. Ignore her. Despite claiming repeatedly to be hungry at bedtime the previous night, that darn Noggin is just too intoxicating to ignore. Maybe that'll teach Mommy to let you watch TV just so she can selfishly get herself into the shower.
C. Agree to eat, but only if the table fare is fruit snacks and Ritz crackers.

You still haven't gotten dressed. Mommy is about to leave for work and insists you GET DRESSED NOW. What do you do?
A. Get dressed in the clothes Mother has graciously selected for you, without complaint. You do love blue, and she remembered that. Isn't she sweet?
B. Hastily choose clothing items of your own. Last year's soccer shorts with an undershirt when it's 31 degrees outside works just fine. For kicks, insist on wearing your Curious George slippers just to watch her head explode.
C. Stand firm. Go to school wearing your pajamas. Who's going to notice? That'll learn that woman who's always telling you what to do.

If your answers are mostly A's, congratulations. You are well on your way to restored video game privileges.

If your answers are mostly B's, your apathy is showing up a little early. Too much TV perhaps? We all know Mom is to blame for that one.

If your answers are mostly C's, you may have issues with authority. Independence is nice, but it's usually best when accompanied by some earning power. Since you have none as of yet, it might be good if you helped around the house a little more.

I'm Afraid of the Night

I have a new post up over on How Do You Do It? on sleep advice, and it got me thinking about sleep and how I'm not getting any lately. Here's why.

I generally start out in my own bed, with my husband, as most married couples do. I go to bed after all three of the boys are already asleep, around 11:30 p.m. Then I read for another 20 minutes or so. Then I fall asleep. And that's when it begins.

Around 2 a.m., one of the boys will scare me awake by staring at me. (Just staring. Like a serial killer. It creeps me out.) He finally climbs in on my side of the bed, where I wrap my arms around him because I don't want him to roll out and die - and I can't put him in the middle of the bed because then he'll kick daddy in the you-know-whats.

A few hours later, the second boy will come in, and may even begin throwing a fit when he sees his coveted spot next to me is already taken by another boy. (No, he can't go sleep by daddy, because of the aforementioned kicking and because daddy is not soft and cuddly like mommy, i.e. I have soft boobs). So I maneuver myself out of my own bed, from under the first sleeping boy, and take the second boy back to his room so that he and I can sleep in his tiny little twin bed.

If I'm lucky, that's where my husband wakes me up when he goes to work, so I can get back into my own bed in time to hear my alarm.

If I'm not lucky, the first boy awakes again at some point to find I'm not there and comes looking for me. I'm very popular. He finds me in bed with the second boy, again wakes me by staring, at which point I get into the first boy's bed with him, leaving the second boy asleep in his own bed.

Have you been counting? That's three beds for me so far. I'm doing more bed-hopping than a sorority girl at a liberal arts college.

Or if I'm lazy (which I would be by 4 a.m., right?), I'll just bring the first boy into bed with me and the second boy. That's one adult and two half-sized human children IN ONE TWIN BED.

I look forward to the day when, like my own 50-something mother, I will be able to survive on four hours of sleep each night. Until then, you can find me napping in my car over lunch.

 

And the Competition Begins

J: Mommy, I love you all the way to Saturn.

N: Well, Mommy, I love you all the way to St. Louis. That's a really long way.

New Blog

I am very excited to announce that I'm now a contributing writer on a new parenting blog called How Do You Do It? It's all about parenting twins (or more!).

And if you are interested, my first post is here: http://howdoyoudoit.wordpress.com/author/craftylissa/.

Please share it with your friends!

You Never Can Tell

I will never let my children eat fruit snacks.

For breakfast.

Okay, they have to at least get dressed by themselves without nagging, and then I'll give them a fruit snack.

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I will never let my children watch TV before they turn two years old.

One year old.

Maybe just Baby Einstein videos. (I have to take a shower at some point!)

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I will never serve my children anything but healthy, balanced meal options, including a vegetable, a carb and a protein at each meal.

A dinner of fruit and carbs is kind of balanced, right?

I think Goldfish do have some protein....

But...

It's true, I'm a girl. And maybe I don't really understand these things. But are butts really that funny? And what about the stuff that comes out of that vicinity? Is that really so funny either?

Two four-year-olds and one thirty-two-year-old think so. All three are male.

I need my own bathroom. Or maybe my own wing.

Once Upon A Time...

...there was a Mommy who missed her two little boys. It was the middle of summer. The boys were home playing blissfully in the summer heat, splashing in pools and running through sprinklers. Mommy was stuck at work, doing a job she hated. So she made a bold move. She snuck out of work a little early (who would notice?) and drove home as fast as she could (within reason) to see her two little boys.

The first wrinkle of the story - the boys were not happy to see her. They wanted Mommy to go away and instead, for their wonderful babysitter Miss J to stay and play with them forever and ever. Mommy was disheartened, but she also knew their emotions were fickle and in a few minutes, they would forget all about Miss J and love Mommy again. Or so she told herself.

To get them to stop crying, Mommy suggested that they go see a movie! The movie was playing at the dollar theater (although it was really the $2 theater), and the boys agreed, and they all drove there as fast as they could (again, within reason), because the movie was going to be starting any minute. Mommy and her boys ran into the theater only to encounter the second wrinkle: a sign that read "CASH ONLY." Mommy never has cash. Never. So back to the minivan, drive to the ATM, get cash, back to the theater, again the running inside, paying the surly teenager, then a stop at the snack bar for stale popcorn and two lemonades that would not fit in the cup holders of the seats and finally they were seated.

Mommy tried not to notice the mildew smell of the theater. (It was an old theater.) And the fact that the seats felt damp. (Why was that? she tried not to think about it.)

Then came the final wrinkle. Boy #1: "Mommy, I have to go potty!" (Luckily, they were the only ones in the entire theater.) While Mommy was trying to get Boy #2 to put his shoes back on, fumbling in the dark, trying not to touch the gross floor, taking WAY too long, Boy #1 speaks up again: "Uh oh Mommy!"

Yes, Boy #1 peed all over the floor (and himself). And Mommy hadn't brought the diaper bag either, as the boys had been potty-trained for months without accidents. After trying to clean up the best one can with paper towels, Mommy graciously let Boy #1 sit on her lap (on top of a layer of paper towels) for the remainder of the movie.

And that was the last time they ever went to the dollar theater.

Cordelia's Revenge

The boys are in a transitional stage. And by transitional stage, I mean that they are literally trying to drive us insane. The mood swings are worse than a 13-year old girl (and I would know). The whining is insurmountable. The fits are uncontrollable. We are nearly at our wit's end.

And then there's the full-body-go-limp, I'm-too-depressed-to-even-react wilt. That's where they melt onto the floor without even a whimper, and you are left with just their apathy as punishment.

My friend S gave me the perfect word to describe their behavior - they are mopey.

I forgot about that word - what an awesomely perfect word to describe what they are doing to us that drives us the MOST CRAZY. I can almost deal with the screaming fits, the broken-hearted-howls-when-the-Wii-is-turned-off. But the moping, good lord, it's the perfect punishment for me.

I was always certain that I would have three daughters. I'm not sure where it came from (possibly King Lear?). When we found out we were having twin boys instead, it came as a shock (of course) and as an immense relief. I was a terror for my parents, especially in the teen years, if you know what I mean (and I know you know what I mean). Boys, by contrast to girls, seem to be a lot less complicated.

So having two four-year-olds who are mopey - it's God's perfect brilliant plan. I'll be missing out on the teen girl terror years and am instead being punished NOW by apathy. Their little limp bodies, defeated on the floor - no Wii, no fruit snacks, no MORE FREAKING GOLDFISH (yes, we are harsh parents) - are my sweet little albatrosses for now.

Can I look forward to clear skies soon? Time will tell.

Christmas

Christmas has come and gone. It was great. Back to work today after a week and half off. So hard to go back. So hard to write complete sentences.

True to form, the boys got sick just in time for the holidays. They spent their time alternating between manic energy and bottomless crashes. I think between the two of them, they ate two goldfish and four pistachio nuts with a glass of orange juice over a three day period.

A Christmas Story

N: Mommy, how old will Baby Jesus be on his next birthday?

J: (scoffing) N, Jesus is dead! He's like a million years old!

Me: (stunned silence)

N: Oh.

J: But I think he comes back at the end of the story.

N: I think when he comes back he'll be two.

Pure Genius

I'm sure I've mentioned several hundreds of times that my boys are geniuses (don't worry, I'm sure yours are too).

After all, they learned to ride their bikes without training wheels two months ago. Riding bikes. No training wheels. They're FOUR, people. (Or did I forget to say that? Maybe it was my defense mechanism kicking in - my dreams are now filled with terrible bike accidents just waiting to happen. A bike accident is the reason their father is deaf in one ear.)

But now the genius is really coming out. They can write their names. It's the most amazing thing I've ever seen. I'm sure you'll agree:





Yes, those are letters.

Don't scoff. It's a start.

Recap of This Week

N: What are you doing, mommy?

Me: I'm putting on my moisturizer.

N: Oh. I guess I'll wait here while you put on your washer-dryer.

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N: Hey mommy, my favorite part of that song was when he goes "Whoo-whoo-whoo."

J: Yeah, but MY favorite part of that song was the whole song.

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Me: What did you do at school today guys?

J: Nothing.

Me: Nothing? Really? You just sat there and stared at the wall?

J: Yes. Nothing. We didn't jump in the foam pit.

N: And we didn't do anything fun. We didn't color either.

Doing the Unthinkable

While watching the boys kick each other under a shared blanket this morning, each struggling to hog the whole of it for himself, I caught myself ACTUALLY SAYING THESE WORDS:

"You know, boys, Santa Claus is watching you right now to see if you're being a good brother. He only brings toys to kids who are good co-operators."

The last of my self-respect is officially gone.

Addition

J: Mommy, how long do I have to go to school?

Me: Well, people normally go to school until they're about 18.

J: Oh.

Me: How old are you now?

J: 4.

Me: So how long do you still have until you're 18?

J: 44?

Perspective

So, I know - I have spoken nary a word about Halloween as of yet but that's because my workplace has unceremoniously banned Flickr from our approved sites (eBay is still okay thank god). I say unceremoniously because no one informed me until I noticed all of my blog photos were broken links and I panicked and thought the internet was broken and hyperventilated a bit because, really, what else would I do with my time? Then I figured it out and just became sad because now I have to do my personal photo sharing on MY OWN TIME and that's really just not fair.

So Halloween was great, yadda yadda yadda, I'll have photos later. In the meantime....

We wanted to go out for lunch on Saturday and, being of course forced to take our children with us, we attempted to convince them to ALLOW US TO GO TO A DIFFERENT RESTAURANT. We normally take them only to one of three places: Mimi's Cafe, Steak 'N Shake, or Quiznos. At each of these fine eating establishments, the boys only eat bread or pancakes, so I don't see why they care so much. Plus the wait staff now sees our family as REGULARS (two boys who look alike and eat only bread kind of stand out), and I prefer to remain anonymous, like all the other miserable parents that are forced into eating where their children demand (and make huge messes).

Since the boys love bread so much, we talked them into going to On the Border. I use the term "talked them into going" loosely because we asked them to expand their horizons, they vehemently disagreed, so we told them we were going anyway. Plus there are chips there and tortillas and lemonade - all of which fall into the approved food list for my children - so I figured they would eventually be won over.

As we walked (dragging children) into the restaurant (with only one time-out stop), we passed a happy couple with their baby in an infant carrier blissfully (and quietly) leaving the restaurant. I wanted to shout at them, "DID YOU ENJOY YOUR TIME EATING OUT?! IT'S ALL ABOUT TO END IN A FEW SHORT MONTHS!" but I thought they might think I was crazy. Plus we already looked like people to avoid, what with a boy under each arm, holding them up by shoes and the back of a jacket, respectively.

The boys did eventually eat tortillas and chips and lemonade and a decent time was had by all. Our next adventure: trying to get in and out of Best Buy without having to purchase a video game. Wish me luck.

So Very Tired

I returned from LAS VEGAS last night at MIDNIGHT. In LAS VEGAS everything is VERY LOUD and VERY FLASHY. Also VERY SMOKEY. And VERY MUCH FULL of CRAZY PEOPLE. There were also so many parents dragging their infants, toddlers and other small-sized children through the CASINOS that it was SICKENING. (My adorable husband was appalled when I told him this - his shock that they didn't ID anyone was so cute. What he doesn't understand is that the gambling IS EVERYWHERE. I don't have anything against gambling, just the chain-smoking. That's not good for kids, in case you didn't know.)

I wasn't in LAS VEGAS by choice per se, unless by choice I mean that I like having a paycheck, which I do. I was there less than 36 hours, and I am emphatic when I say that I NEVER WANT TO GO THERE AGAIN. (I'm sure the city itself is lovely, where the real people live. I'm talking only about the Strip.) It's just that all of my possessions reek of cigarettes. I did have an incredible meal at SeaBlue, which accomplishes my goal for the trip (to finally have one decent meal while traveling). The MGM Grand, where we were having the convention, was beautiful (except for the smoking, smoking, smoking everywhere). So I guess I really just didn't like the smokey atmosphere. My eyes and lungs burned (maybe it didn't help that I'm still recovering from a cold). Or maybe I'm just a big baby.

Conversations

J: Daddy?

D: Yes?

J: When you're driving, don't run into the other cars.

D: Got it. Thanks.

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N: Mommy, what is that monkey's name?

M: Uh, I'm not sure. I don't think he has a name.

N: Maybe his name is George Washington.

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J: Oops, excuse me.

M: What?

J: Well, I farted. But just a little bubble popped out.

Bagging It

One of our fabulous babysitters, A, is getting married in less than two weeks. The boys have been very interested in this development as they will be ring-bearers in the wedding. No flower girls - just two boys who will hopefully walk down the aisle without dissolving under the stares of a thousand eyes.

A has told the boys that her last name will be changing. N has been especially interested in this, asking what Miss J's name will be changing to (A & J are sisters). What about Miss A moving out? Where will Miss J live? Won't her mommy and daddy miss her?

A has explained to N that it's okay, she will still see her mommy and daddy and Miss J will still live with them.

What about Miss A's toys?

A has explained she will take some things with her and other things will be new for their new home.

N thought a long time about that one. Finally he told her, "When I get married, I'll just pack my toys in my backpack and take them with me."

There Are Limits

J has a crusty, yucky ear.

It's one of the side effects of having tubes put in that they don't really warn you about. That all that yucky gunky stuff that gives your child an ear infection will now drain out of their head just like a runny nose with a massive sinus infection. It is the exact consistency of snot. And his ear is, of course, SORE AND HURTING, because it's like having an inside-out ear infection. So J does not want us to clean his disgusting ear (to put it mildly), even when the entire side of his head and neck are covered in, essentially, snot.

The boys and I had lunch with my father yesterday, who had graciously spent the previous night with the boys so hubby and I could have a night away in a hotel for my birthday. (That sounds very exciting, but we actually each slept in our own queen-sized beds, blissfully taking up as much space we wanted without any boys kicking us or crawling over us or taking our pillows. It was the perfect birthday present.)

At lunch, Grandpa was trying surreptitiously to clean J's dripping (yes, dripping) ear. J was not happy. I reminded J that we needed to clean his ear and put ear drops in when we got home (looking back on it, not sure why I brought it up at all - was I trying to prepare him for his upcoming torture?). Grandpa, in his usual way, then tried to diffuse the situation with humor by suggesting various items that should go into J's ear instead of medicine and a cotton ball. All three boys got into it, suggesting bananas, elbows, toes, even the obligatory BUTT IN THE EAR and FARTING and POOPING that N and J would of course have to suggest.

But they drew the line when Grandpa suggested putting his cheese sandwich in J's ear: "Grandpa, that's disgusting."